Parts of a Whole
by PhantomPenguin
Summary: Maleficent alit upon the scorched stone, her wings drooping with fatigue and her bright eyes scanning the hall for a golden head and a feather-flecked dragon. Stefan might have been dead, but his men were still locked in the throes of the battle; there was no time yet to waste on sentiment-her beastie was in danger. Oneshot, aftermath of the final battle scene. Maleval.


**Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly.**

Mmm...so, after months and months of inactivity, I burst back on to the fanfiction scene in an entirely new venue! Who would have guessed? I was living the life of a technology-less, isolated hermit this summer, so I wasn't even _aware _of this wonderful movie until a month or two ago. Me being me, I (finally) watched it and immediately fell in love.

And, of course, I wanted (and still want) more. And, when I don't find _enough _more already in existence, I write it myself. Thus, this.

I like to imagine I did the characters justice, and either way it was terribly fun to write. Reviews and feedback of all sorts are greatly appreciated; how else can I improve?

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>The castle burned.<p>

Flames licked the stone walls, tasting ages-old foundation and sending tongues of dragonfire skipping toward the ceiling. Soldiers beat ineffectively at the fires, succeeding only in fanning the flames and feeding the frenzy, their frantic cries clashing with the crackle of burning wood and stone.

Maleficent alit upon the scorched stone, wings drooping with fatigue, bright eyes scanning the hall for a golden head and a feather-flecked dragon. Diaval was easy—he had escaped his bindings and now loomed above the throne room, dark eyes flashing and a trail of flame trickling form his open mouth any time a human ventured too close. His massive flanks were peppered with lacerations and puncture wounds, and Maleficent bit the inside of her cheek to keep from exclaiming at the state of her servant. Massive though he was, he was still a creature of magic, and as vulnerable to iron as she.

Stefan might have been dead, but his men were still locked in the throes of the battle; there was no time yet to waste on sentiment. Locating Aurora was of the highest priority. Men could not be trusted, bloodlust and battle locking transforming them into berserkers—her beastie was in danger.

"Monster!" As the soldiers spotted Maleficent, they broke their siege on Diaval, racing away from her draconian servant and rushing toward her with their burning iron brandished in the air, oblivious to the conflagration that roared through the massive hall. "Demon! Where is the king? What have you done with him?"

Always the king, always Stefan—_no more. _It was over now, it was done_. She _was done. The king was dead. Stefan was gone, her vengeance had. _Gone. Gone, gone, gone…_ The words echoed in her mind, her brain turning the words over and over until the reality of it seemed a farce.

"The king is dead." Her mouth opened and spoke the words her heart was hoarding, allowing the open hall to catch her voice and project it over the clamor, carrying it to all who stood within the castle boundaries. "Stefan is _dead_."

A collective silence fell over the throne room as the wave of soldiers faltered, uncertainty trickling through their ranks. No king, no leader, no direction—they were only underlings, followers now with no one to follow.

Some of the tension drained from Maleficent as she saw their hesitation, their threat level plummeting with their disorganization and confusion. Even as Maleficent turned from the soldiers, her questing eyes finally alit upon Aurora; nestled between Diaval's massive forefeet, the girl seemed unharmed and stood watching the proceedings with wide blue eyes.

Maleficent let her power carry her voice once more. "Hear me now," she proclaimed, wishing her wings were not strained beyond any level of flight and could bear her aloft to address the mortals below. "You are not leaderless. There is another—Stephan's daughter, the princess Aurora, has awoken from her curse. She is your queen, and you owe her your allegiance."

Her passive face spoke of none of the anxiety she felt at the muttering that spread across the human soldiers. They had to accept Aurora on their own, or the girl would have no standing among the mortals. Her heart beat ferociously in her chest, lips compressed in a thin line as she stood poised to ignore her screaming muscles and force herself into flight should they decide to put sixteen years of enmity before accepting a new queen.

Finally, the soldiers knelt, their movements staggered and ungraceful as they forced iron-armoured knees to bend. The throne room clinked and clanked as the humans knelt before their new queen, going down like dominoes as they put themselves at the mercy of the girl and her dragon.

"Aurora." Maleficent crooked a finger at the girl, the barest hint of a smile flitting across her face. "Address your people."

Weaving her way through the rubble, carefully stepping around fallen stone and flickering flames, Aurora looked with kind eyes among her subjects. "I am King Stefan's daughter and heir," she announced, her steps strong and her voice steady, growing in confidence as she caught first Diaval's and then Maleficent's approving eyes. "I have been under a curse and am now free, and by birth and by right I am next in line for the throne—will you have me for your queen?"

"Aye!" The hall rang with their unified acceptance.

Watching as Aurora bade her subjects rise and walked among them to greet them, Maleficent slipped to the side, satisfied that her charge faced no further threat from the human rabble. Her body was drooping with fatigue, her magnificent wings limp and trailing along the stone behind her. She was _tired_—her skin burned, the scalding blisters where iron brands had seared into her skin rippling as her magic surged to heal them, and her wings were screaming after seventeen years of disuse and the subsequent abuse of the day's intense flight.

Diaval whuffed out a greeting as she approached and she afforded him a small smile before leaning on one massive foreleg, doing her best to appear as though she were intentionally using him as a prop and he was _not_ the only thing keeping her upright. "Are you badly injured?" she asked, placing a palm on Diaval's inky scales and tilting her head back to examine her friend. It was a question she already knew the answer to, but her fatigue and respect for him prompted her to give him the opportunity to speak for himself.

His massive bulk shuddered as he snorted a negative, but Maleficent knew otherwise, having already scouted out the numerous abrasions lacing his bulk. Her fingers trailed along his feathered flanks, sending bolts of magic lancing through him to seek out and heal any wounds. She felt the magic catch and hissed, feeling power drawn from her to seal numerous gashes peppering his hide. "Liar," she gasped, staggering back against his great leg as the healing leached away her magic.

This dragon form was just too massive for her depleted energy levels; the magic poured from her, gushing from her to flood into Diaval. Any more, and she would pass into unconsciousness, and _then _what use would she be? "Into a man," she whispered, using the remaining dregs of her power to shift him into his human form. Her plan to reduce the healing didn't take into account the loss of her support, however, and she reeled backward as the scaled forepaw behind her disappeared, her legs and wings betraying her after the events of the day.

She couldn't muster the energy to resist or care, barely even aware of her body folding bonelessly to the ground. A pair of pale arms caught her before she could meet the flagstone floor, wrapping around her waist and drawing her into a solid back, steadying her, and holding her where her body would have betrayed her.

"I've got you, Mistress." Diaval's arms and torso were a safe haven, his voice soft in her ear as he cradled her against his chest.

Goosebumps rippled across her pale flesh in response to his nearness, a response she had noticed of late but had as yet ignored. Dependency of any sort was a foreign entity to her, as was any sort of deep feeling, and so mustering the final dregs of her strength she gently extricated herself from his hold and wrapped a hand around his wrist. "Thank you, Diaval," she said quietly, earnestly, meeting his concerned gaze with a small smile. Her thumb gently traced over the bones of his wrist, the touch so light it was certainly unconscious. Without thinking, he flipped their hands, catching her wrists and holding them in a gentle grasp. She could barely stand, lacked all the energy to walk or even move, but somehow her gaze remained unwaveringly locked upon his, his dark eyes boring into hers and piercing her to the soul.

How long they stood like that she couldn't say, but it was simultaneously the longest and shortest moment she had ever experienced. Diaval's gaze was fathomless, his stare an extension of the gentle grip of his hands around her thin wrists. She felt utterly disarmed, the entirety of her being exposed to his scrutiny. His eyes spoke volumes, conveying emotions and words that he would never allow to pass his lips, but instead bottled up within; she was much the same, her brilliant orbs shining with a litany of unexpressed emotion.

Finally, Maleficent broke the spell, tilting her head slightly to glance out across the great hall and watch Aurora bustle about the floor, directing her soldiers in the removal of some of the vile, poisonous iron that littered the hall. "I believe our beastie has things under control for the moment," she observed lightly. It was perhaps the greatest understatement of the day, as the soldiers quite evidently adored their young queen. Curse, blessing, or otherwise, no one could set eyes upon Aurora without loving her.

"I think," Maleficent said, tearing her eyes away from the strangely compelling scene of her young ward playing queen, "that the time has come for us to make ourselves scarce, at least for the time being—this rabble will do her no harm, but I have no such confidence for our own safety until more time has passed and Aurora's influence has grown." She gave a pained wince as ever muscle in her body decideded to scream out simultaneously. "I am not yet certain how far Aurora's influence has spread, and I don't trust these _humans_ not to suddenly remember sixteen years of enmity and disregard any order that she has given."

Though her voice was strong, her speech belied the bone-shattering exhaustion that currently gripped her body; her arms and legs were jelly, her wings flaccid and hanging limp and lank against her back. Her magic reserves were completely drained; she couldn't so much as levitate a feather in her current state.

At this moment, nothing appealed to her more than _home—_the Moors, away from man and iron, isolated from war and blood and death. Home, where she could rest and recover, and finally release the old wounds that had festered in her heart for so very long. She could not bear to feel powerless, and here in the heart of Stefan's kingdom, weak and devoid of her magic, she felt just that.

"Home," Diaval nodded, lips curling up in a small smile. He knew her, knew _exactly _what was going through her head, and he could not bear it. She was finally whole—wings returned, past ghosts vanquished. She should be home where she could recover in peace, away from these human demons and back in the moors that she so loved. He reached out and drew his mistress to him, his touch gentle but insistent as she stiffened and instinctively flinched away, conditioned to years of avoiding any and all human contact.

"Let me help you, mistress," he said, his fingers firm around hers. At his touch, her lingering resistance failed, her mind and body finally relaxing enough to give in to their exhaustion. She trusted him enough to let down her guard, to concede defeat to the events of the day and the fatigue that had been gnawing at her throughout the day. She sagged forward into Diaval's waiting arms, her head falling against his shoulder, face pressed into his neck.

Diaval looked down at his armful of Maleficent and immediately began revising his plans. With him trapped in human form and his mistress exhausted beyond her means, there was no feasible way for him to transport them safely back to the moors—not without a long and extremely uncomfortable horseback ride. _He _was in perfect health—her remaining magic had seen to that—but she was in desperate need of undisturbed rest.

Unfortunately, that meant staying here—among the humans.

Raising one hand, he traced the sharp angles of her cheekbones, doing his best to keep the drowsy fairy steady against his chest. Her eyes fluttered beneath their lashes but remained close, further testament to her exhaustion.

"Aurora."

At Diaval's soft, insistent call, the young queen hurried over to them. "Diaval, what is it?" she exclaimed. "Godmother!" Her eyes widened at the sight of Maleficent cradled in Diaval's arms; she had never seen her godmother so vulnerable. Maleficent was even paler than usual, the dark lashes kissing her cheeks a a sharp contrast to the pallor of her skin. "Is she alright?"

Diaval shifted his feet, drawing Maleficent even more tightly against him. "She'll be right as rain with a good night's rest," he assured the young queen. "Her reserves are drained, and flying today did her no favors—flight muscles strain under far less stress than what she exposed them to today." Deft fingers reached out and smoothed the feathers of her majestic wings, caressing the silky feathers and flattening them back into place. He looked at the woman in his arms and smiled a gentle smile. "She has her wings and her heart back," he said, meeting Aurora's eyes. "She's more than alright."

A relieved smile spread across Aurora's face. "What do you need?" she asked earnestly. "Everything I have is yours."

"A room, I believe," Diaval said firmly. "My mistress is tired."

Nodding, Aurora beckoned to a servant lurking on the outskirts of the great hall. "Lead these two to the finest free bedroom in the castle," she commanded. "No harm is to come to them, now or ever; they are beloved by me and this kingdom owes them _everything." _The command carried throughout the hall, heard by every soldier and punctuated by Aurora's charisma.

The servent nodded, casting a nervous glance at the supine Maleficent, still cradled in Diaval's arms.

"She won't hurt us, then?" he asked apprehensively, eyes flickering fretfully toward the exhausted fairy.

Diaval scoffed. "No." He wanted to say more, to grab this imbecile by the scruff of the neck and show him just how very wrong his moronic assumptions were, but time for that later. Maleficent needed him now. "I believe you mentioned a room?" he prompted, quirking one dark eyebrow.

The servant blinked and jumped to attention, ducking away from Diavals intense stare and turning toward a side passageway. "Aye, m'lord. Follow me."

"Can you walk, Mistress?" Diaval asked the fairy, lips pursed in a concerned frown.

"Of course I can," she sniffed, coming back to life at the hint of a challenge in his tone, and made as if to jerk out of his arms to prove it. Once out of Diaval's supporting hold, though, she promptly staggered, legs refusing to cooperate with her intent. Diaval, however, was ready, catching her about the shoulders when she would have fallen. "Well," she muttered, "Perhaps I require a small amount of assistance."

The admission was the equivalent of pulling teeth, and Diaval knew better than to comment as he steered her after the servant, one hand pressed firmly into the small of her back, the other laced with the fingers of her right hand.

One very long, slow walk later found Diaval and Maleficent carefully ensconced within an immense room within the bowels of the castle. The bed was a massive four poster, bedecked with thick green hangings, and it was perhaps the most hideous, uncomfortable-looking thing Diaval had ever seen. "This won't do at all," he murmured. His mistress was a creature of the Moors—trees and grass, wind and earth. _Not _these human rooms and beds. Maleficent leaned heavily against his side, eyes drooping with fatigue but still struggling to remain open. She had come back to herself enough to stagger along beside Diaval on their way to the room, his arm looped about her shoulder, a steady presence to support her and keep her from failing.

He cast his eyes about the room for some alternative to the monstrosity of a bed, and his mouth curled into a grin as his eyes alit upon a basket-like lounge tucked into a corner. Moving as quickly as he could with Maleficent pressed against his side, he seized the pillows from the massive four-poster and spread them across the lounge.

"Here, Mistress," he said, helping her lie down, "rest. You're safe now."

She sank back gratefully into the cushions, her eyes fluttering and a soft sigh escaping her lips as her body relaxed. Diaval made as if to move away, but was halted by her hand reaching out and catching his sleeve. "No," she murmured, forcing her eyes open once ore to stare up at him with a burning gaze. "Don't leave me."

Her grip was strong even in her state of infirm, and Diaval could no more refuse her than stop breathing. Carefully shifiting some pillows around, he settled in beside her on the cot-like chair, careful not to jar her wings or shift her form. Threads of golden light danced across her pale skin, the bright lightning licking through skin and bone and muscle and healing every ailment it encountered.

She was radiant, and Diaval was enthralled. "Beautiful," he breathed, reaching out to trace one razor-sharp cheekbone. He turned his head to brush his lips across her cheek. "Beautiful," he repeated once more. "Mistress, you are truly breathtaking."

Her ruby lips quirked upward and her eyes fluttered open. "No," she murmured.

Diaval's eyebrows rose. "No?" he repeated, his fingers tracing a line from her neck to her clavicle. "Mistress, I beg to differ."

She shook her head. "No." Her teeth flashed in a soft grin. "Not Mistress."

His hand stilled in its caress, his attention zeroed in on the woman before him. "No?" he whispered, hardly daring to breathe.

"No." Her arm rose to caress his cheek with the back of her hand. "Not Mistress, my raven." Her head sank back against him as she slipped closer to the realm of sleep, turning her face into his chest. "Maleficent," she breathed into his neck, lips tickling his skin. "To you, always Maleficent."

"Maleficent," Diaval repeated, leaning down to press a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. "My Maleficent."

The gold sparks returned in full force, coating her with a glowing cocoon and skipping across her skin, healing aches and ailments along the way and continuing along through the night. All across the castle, golden light could be seen leaking from open doorways, curling along the hall and hovering in the air. Those lucky enough with a view to the window could look up and see the dark fairy silhouetted against the night by a golden nimbus of light, her omnipresent shadow nestled beside her.

They were together, and finally they were whole.


End file.
